


Hello For The First Time Again

by stickyrice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, OOC sort of but I guess we never know since we can only guess about some of their characteristics, Romance, Sort of AU, mythea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:50:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2645690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickyrice/pseuds/stickyrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death never stopped a Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She stood in front of the large window in his office; her office now. The door was firmly shut and securely locked; she had told her assistant that she did not want any interruptions. She was alone, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle, as though she was trying to hold herself together; as if they were the only things that were keeping her standing, and that if she let go, she would surely crumple.

It was early afternoon, but the skies were a dark, smudged charcoal grey; the dark charcoal grey of the suite that he use to favour, she thought absently. But as soon as that through entered her mind, she tried valiantly to push it away, lest the throb and pain of loss returned and the tears started anew.

Huge, round raindrops splattered against the windowpane, and created long, wet rivulets of water down the glass. It had rained every day since, as if the heavens too were mourning his loss. 

It had been two months, but it still felt like yesterday.

At the time it had seemed a little odd, she was his personal assistant, she was practically his shadow; where ever he went, you did not need to look far to see her in his wake, but not this time.

They were scheduled to go with Sherlock to Eastern Europe and make sure that he was transferred to MI-6 without incident, after which they would then return to clean up matters concerning Appledore and the whole Magnussen ordeal.

He had looked tense and ill at ease the few days leading up to their departure, and from that alone she should have known, or at least suspected, but no, she had justified it as concern for his younger brother. What a fool she was.

As they were just about to get into the car that would take them to Sherlock and then the airport, an aid came briskly up to them, informing her that she was needed in an emergency meeting that he could not disclose at that time. She had glanced at her boss watching as his face loss some of its tension, but just marginally, as if relieved that she would not be going with him, however the same grimness gripped his features.

Her brows raised in curiosity towards him, silently asking him if he knew what this was all about. He gave a minute shake of his head, indicating that he knew as much as she did. It was never she that was summoned to meetings, it was always him, and she would be the one sent ahead, only for him to rejoin her later. As she peered into his eyes, she saw that he was not telling her the whole truth; that although he may not know everything, that he knew enough.

She turned back to the aid to tell him to send her regrets, that she was needed elsewhere; however before she was able to voice this, he interrupted her.

“Yes, she will be along shortly, thank you” Mycroft said towards the aid, his thank you signalling that he was dismissed. With a curt nod, the aid turned and left the way he came.

Alone once again, she turned swiftly back to him, a question in her eyes.

Shaking his head softly, he told her in a measured voice, “Go... and you can rejoin me at a later time” he said cryptically.

Her brows frowned in confusion, she nodded her head slowly; not quite understanding the severity his voice belayed, “Alright, Sir” she relented reluctantly.

She turned to leave, but the touch of his hand to her elbow stopped her in her tracks. She turned back to him once more, curiosity written across her face. Sliding his hand down her arm, he interlaced their fingers together and gave her hand a gentle squeeze; the heat from his palm and fingers serving to warm her ever present colder hand, sending tingles up her arm. She looked down at their joined hands briefly, before her eyes met his once again. His were quirked up in a soft, sad half smile, his eyes suspiciously bright.

“Goodbye my dear, until later” he told her softly, just above a whisper for her ears only.

His words startled her momentarily; the soft tone of his voice something that she only heard when they were alone together surprised her, and if she was not mistake she thought she detected a small waver in his voice.

She made to reply but he shook his head softly and let the hand he was holding drop back to her side.

Clearing his voice, back to its regular, professional timber, “You best not keep them waiting” he told her as he climbed into the car.

She watched his car drive off, her mind racing, her thoughts muddled and confused. Giving her head a shake, as if to physically rid herself of her confusing thoughts, she pushed them to the back of her mind to deal with later; to ask him about later. Squaring her shoulder to went back into the building to meet up with the waiting aid, only to be swept off to the deepest bowels of the building.

She sat around the table with some of MI-6 and MI-5’s top members calmly answering their questions and adding to briefing discussion but, inwardly she was becoming more and more panicked; why was she here and not he; why are they treating her as if she was him. 

Suddenly the door opened and in entered some young faceless lackey, he stood stiff at attention.

“Report” barked the official at the head of the table.

The young man briefly glanced in her direction before he gave his report, “Operation complete, no survivors”

At the young man’s words and glance she had deduced enough to know what he was referring to. Abruptly she stood, her chair scraping back nosily as she did so.

“Explain” she ground out, her words fierce and biting.

The young man looked frightened and at a loss, trying unsuccessfully to stutter out a reply.

She glanced around the table, eyeing each member for answers; what she saw struck her, they eyed her back with varying degrees of sympathy and pity in their eyes.

“You have to understand; we could not have any loose ends” the man at the head of the table told her, as if his words were enough to justify the deaths of both the Holmes brothers. Two individuals who had given more to their country and its people than any of them could even dream of.

At his words she fell back heavily into her chair, the proverbial wind taken out of her sails.

That was two months ago, but the image of the small plane shattered across the burning ground, black smoke curing up into the air still haunted her and brought up a sob that she would not let past her lips; that almost suffocates her as it sticks in her throat.

She remembered standing on the other side of the cold metal slab in a sort of daze; aware of what was going on around her, but unable or unwilling to let it pierce the fog that had evolved her. The bodies that had been recovered were mangled and charred, unrecognizable even to those closest to them. However, the blood test had confirmed that it was indeed them.

She remembered standing their stoically, the only outward sign that she was affected with the clenching of her fists at her side, her lips clamped together so tightly that her once full rosy lips were nothing more than a thin white line, and the metallic taste of blood in her mouth as she bit down into her tongue.

She vaguely remembered the crumpled form of John Watson as he sank to his knees on the floor, and the sound of his pained sobs that ripped from his throat that were more akin to that of a tortured, dying animal. The rocking motion as he canted back and forth, repeating “not again, you can’t be dead” over and over.

Turning away from the window, she sank slowly down into the leather chair; it still smelled like him. She inhaled deeply through her nose; his scent still clung to the chair and she briefly prayed that it always would, but knowing deep down that everything faded eventually.

However, in her heart of hearts, she knew that this feeling would never fade; nothing would take away this pain; this loss. Its acute sharpness would dull, yes, but the ache would never go away.

Glancing at the stacks of papers and files that littered the desk, her mind drifting over all of their details, and she could not help but feel a bitter satisfaction. The days that followed their deaths, it was like all of London, all of the United Kingdom; the entire world was waiting on bated breath, not quite believing that they were gone. But once the initial shock wore off, it was like without the omniscient guiding hand of Mycroft Holmes and the sharp, keen intellect of Sherlock Holmes, London and the world fell into chaos.

The number of unsolved crimes and murders were on the steady rise; New Scotland Yard was becoming inundated with the number of cold and unsolved cases. They would cope eventually, but nowhere near as successfully as when they had the help of the world’s only consulting detective.

Treaties and long standing political and international relationships were becoming frayed and pressure among their allies was becoming tenser. The nation and its men and women behind the scenes were finding themselves struggling to stay ahead of the game; they were just barely keeping 5 paces ahead of potential threats and in some cases even less so. They were only now beginning to realize the capacity of just that one single man, and that the work that he did took the collective effort of countless.

They had “promoted” her and given her his job; his office even before the warmth had left his body. As ambitious as she was, she did not want this; she never wanted this; if it wasn’t for him, she would have left this profession a long time ago. It was only out of a sense of duty and loyalty to him that made her stay. Sure she was decent at the job, but the drive and passion for Queen and country never fueled her the way it did him. It was rather the order and exacting precision of the job that had at first caught her attention, something that was now slipping in his absence.

As she sat there, she ran her hand along the smooth surface of the desk, feeling the grains of the dark wood under her hand; she thought of the havoc and turmoil that the absence of these two men had thrown the nation into and couldn’t help but take some grim pleasure from it.  

_Let it burn, let it all burn_ she thought viciously and without remorse.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The house is dark; she cannot bear to turn on all of the lights just to illuminate its loneliness, it’s as if keeping the house shrouded in darkness will help to make the reality that she is alone less painful; less true.

Her hair is damp, strands clinging to the side of her face and falling down her back in layers, curled at the ends, fresh from the shower. She lets it dry naturally knowing that it will curl into soft ringlets just the way he use to like it; how he liked to wrap them around his fingers and watch them bounce back into place, not dissimilar to the curl on his fringe that she liked to tease out of place.

She is dressed in his dark blue, silk dressing gown; the fabric clinging to her slightly wet skin. It was always his dressing gown that she wore. She remembered his amused exasperation fondly after the third time she stole his dressing gown; him propped up in bed chest bare, hair mused, and sheet tangled about his waist. With brow frowned he took in her form; the large, dark dressing gown swallowing her slight form and pooling at her feet.

“I could get you your own you know” he told her as he watched from under long lashes as the gown shifted and slid down her shoulder, revealing creamy flesh to his eyes.

She flashed him a brilliant smile tying the sash at her waist; the deep v running down between the valley of her bare breasts.

“Nah, I like this one just fine” she told him with a cheeky grin, coming back to the bed to perch on the side of the mattress.

“Whatever for; you are practically swimming in it” he told her as he reached out to tug her towards him.

She shakes her head gently; the soft tresses of her hair swinging back and forth brushing against his shoulder and chest, “It smells like you and makes me feel closer to you” she told him, a slight blush rising up her chest to heat her cheeks.

“Then it is all yours darling” he tells her sincerely as he stares deeply into her eyes.

They are poised in a moment, both falling into the depth of the others eyes; getting lost in the heat and swirling emotion.

He breaks the moment by rolling her under his warm body, and she can’t help but let out a shriek of surprise and delight. Flashing her a mischievous grin, his hand reaches out to brush the back of his hand softly against her cheek, skimming It down her neck, and down between the opening of the dressing gown.

“You blush so prettily. Now let’s see just how far down it goes” he told her, he voice pitched low sending shivers down her spine.

She takes a moment to compose herself and let the memory wash over her before turning away from the full length mirror, her breathing slightly laboured, and her heart beating wildly.

She takes to wandering the house each night, revisiting the places that they shared, afraid that if she didn’t, their memories would fade; that she would forget their times together; that she would forget him.

Tonight is the study.

She approaches the dark, solid wood doors; the polished ornate door knob glowing golden in the low light of the hallway. Since he has been gone, there is an unspoken rule among the staff that the door is to be shut; no one goes in but her.

She is the mistress of the house now; there was no discussion or formal handing over, it just was, and she was grateful for their discretion.

She trails her hand along the raised panels of wood, tracing their outline; this was his private sanctuary, his inner sanctum where he could pretend that all was right in the world. They often spent long hours in here, either working to resolve the next crisis or just to be, away from prey eyes and listening ears.

She grasps the door knob, cold to the touch and pushes the door open. Closing the door behind her, the click of the latch settling back into place reverberates through the dark, quiet room. She simply stands there, hand still on the handle surveying the room; it was immaculate, it always was.

The moonlight filters into the room, bathing it in a sliver glow, and casting long shadows around the room. Everything looks exactly the same; the same as the last day he was there, with the exception of the hearth; it was eerily cold, its fires long since dead.

_Dead,_ she gives a mirthless chuckle at the irony.

Pushing away from the door, she wanders around the room, trailing her hands over surfaces and shelves; running her fingers across the spines of books and the ornate picture frames on the walls, as if her touch will awaken the memories that they each held.

She stops in front of the deep burgundy couch with a soft black throw blanket over the back; it had made its permanent home there after she had come upon him curled up, fast asleep one too many times. The couch faced the empty hearth with two matching wingback chairs flanking either side. She sits tentatively on the edge of the sofa, her arms outstretched to the side, palms down skimming across the soft grained leather cushions; it’s smooth and plush to the touch.

She sinks further back into the sofa, letting the cushions surround and enfold her, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine it was his arms that she was in; that held her and kept her demons at bay.

With her eyes closed, she stretched out along the couch and lets her mind drift away; letting her memories wrap around her to stave off the biting chill that threatened to consumer her.

They had agreed early on, well more like she had strong armed him into agreeing, that if it was not a matter of life or death, or the destruction of the nation, all work would be put away at 9pm. Reluctantly he had agreed, not that he had much of a choice; she was quiet authoritative when she wanted to be.

He was sitting on one end of the sofa; his long legs stretched before him propped up on the low coffee table in front, crossed at the ankles; his shoes having long since been kicked off. His suit jacket discarded, he is in his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and waist coat; his tie is loosened and the top three button of his shirt undone. He has his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he holds his book aloft in one hand, his other hand absently carding through her hair; letting his fingers tangle in the curled ends.

She is stretched out across the sofa; her head nestled in his lap; her stockinged feet hanging over the arm of the couch. Her dark pencil skirt has ridden up her thighs, and the lacy top of her stockings are peeking out. She too has discarded her jacket, and is laid out in just her white silk blouse that has been untucked from her skit; the top buttons are undone, and her pale collarbone is exposed. She is facing towards the fire, watching as it dances and jumps; the heat from facing the fire makes her cheeks warm and flushed.

Lazily his hand drifts to the opening of her shirt and his fingers ghost over her collarbone, causing her skin to break into excited goose-bumps. She wriggles down further onto the couch giving him easier access.

His hand is now back on the outside of her shirt skimming up and down her sides; the warmth of his palm igniting a heat within her. His fingers brush the underside of her breast one after the other, his thumb sweeping over her pebbled nipple through the thin material of her silk blouse. He couldn’t help the grin that stole across his face when she let out a breathy sigh, her frame shivering at his touch.

Setting his book aside, he unhurriedly plucks the rest of the buttons of her blouse free, his other hand stroking the column of the pale creamy flesh of her neck; all the while his eyes staring down at her, burning into her, desire and need bright in his eyes.

Her shirt parts and flutters open to her sides. His movements pause as he drinks in the sight of her bared flesh. His hand is on her again this time more firmly; palming and tweaking her taunt flesh of her breast and nipples. Tiny little gasps of needs escaped her lips.

Needing to feel more of him, she propped herself up on her elbow, a hand reaching out to grasp the fabric of his cloths in her hands. Gently he pried her fingers away, laying a gentle kiss on each palm of her hand. Tugging on her wrist, he was rewarded with a lapful of beautiful woman straddling his thighs.

With hands resting on her shoulders, he slides his hands down her arms, effectively pushing her blouse of her shoulders, letting it flutter to the ground. Sitting up a bit straighter, he leans his face in to nuzzle against her breasts; his nose skimming up and down the valley of her breasts.

She gives a soft whimper as she feels his hot breath against her. Turning his head slightly, his warm, moist tongue draws a wet circle around one nipple before his lips close around the lace cover, stiff peak; his arms sliding around her back caressing the dip in her spine before traveling up to unhook her bra. His attention switches to the next, paying it equal attention.

She threads her hands into his hair bringing him flush against her; his deep moan as she wracks her nails against his scalp causing her arousal to spike. She rolls her hips against the thick ridge of his cock through his pants, making him groan in pleasure and busk against her.

She tugs insistently on the fabric of his cloths as she withers against him, needing to feel his flesh against hers. Her fingers fumble with his buttons, trembling with unchecked passion. He bats her hands away gently with a soft chuckle; she gives him an indignant pout at his amusement, her lip gutting out full and glistening in the warm glow of the firelight.

At the sight of her pouted lips, his eyes further dilate, his pupils bleeding into his irises; the blue of his eyes becoming dark and inky. Surging forward he captures her lower lip between his teeth, nipping it lightly before sweeping his tongue across it to sooth the slight sting.

She gasps into his mouth and he teaks the opportunity to slide his crash his mouth to hers; sliding his tongue in to invade and plunder her sweet depths. After what felt like an eternity of bliss they break apart panting.

He pushes her back to lay stretch out across the sofa and he gets up, his eyes never leaving her as he makes quick work of his cloths. She too makes quick work of the rest of her cloths and as watches him undress, her hands, as if moving on their own accord, stroke down her stomach to the apex of her thighs and back up again; his eyes go impossibly darker as he watches her.

He rejoins her on the sofa, settling between her splayed legs, his hands reaching up to smooth back her wild, tangled hair; his hands settling on her cheeks, framing her face.

He gazes down at her tenderly, the firelight making them glow golden, “My Anthea; my love” he whispers lowly before tenderly capturing her lips once again.

She lets out a soft noise as she feels his hips sink into hers. Not breaking the kiss his hand glides down her side, sending shivers through her body. He sides a hand between their bodies to find her impossibly wet and hot; she chokes out his name on a strangled gasp. He lets out a deep groan from the back of his throat as his fingers move through her wetness. 

He sinks two fingers into her, and she breaks the kiss with a gasp; her eyes going wide and her mouth falling open. Her hands move up to clutch at his shoulders, her nails sinking in and leaving little crescent shape indents.

His fingers move lazily in and out of her; slowly; unhurriedly, driving her mad. She tries to buck up into his hand but he has her hips pinned to the sofa beneath his; a devilish smile playing on his lips at her frustrated groan.

He curls his fingers in an upward motion to brush up against the tiny bundle of nerves inside that he knows will drive her wild. At his touch, her eyes clench tightly closed against the pleasure coursing through her; her breath hitching in her throat, and her bottom lip is held tightly between her teeth.

As he feels the telltale flutter of her inner walls signaling her impending orgasm, he pulls out and strokes the inside of her thighs gently. Her eyes fly open and she growls at him through clenched teeth.

She bucked up into him once again, with a force that almost topples him over onto the floor. All he can do is chuckle at her and capture her lips in a sweet, loving kiss full of promise. As she melts into his kiss, her arms circling around his neck, he lines himself up with her wet, heated flesh, and finally, finally sinks deeply into her.

The feel of her surrounding him; the tight pressure and involuntary quiver of her inner muscles as she stretches around him almost serve to be too much. Gritting his teeth, he rests his forehead on her chest, willing his body to calm as the urge to thrust harder and deeper into her becomes overwhelming.

His breath is coming out in panted puffs against her sink as she strokes his hair at the nape of his neck. As she feels him twitch inside of her, she cannot help but let a soft whimper pass her parted lips; a soft sound that has him involuntarily grinding down into her; her heels slide up his body to lock around his ass, pulling him ever deeper.

At her urging, he pulls out of her slowly, only to sink back into her waiting depths with a snap of his hips; her mouth falling open in a soundless moan as he rolled against that spot deep inside of her. Her hands struggle for leverage as she braces them against the arm of the sofa and push back hard onto him.

They continue this strong, steady rhythm, a fine sheen of sweat coating their bodies. Her eyes are rolled back into her head, her body quaking with pleasure at his every thrust; small mewling sounds escaping her lips, it’s pitching climbing higher with the intensity of their joining bodies.

He grunts in time with her as he feels himself bottom out within her; his breathing harsh and laboured. Moving a hand between their joined bodies, he ghosted his fingers lightly over her throbbing clit. At his touch, he watched as her head thrashes to the side, shaking back and forth, and felt her stomach muscles rippled under his.

With one hand, he pinned her hands to the arm of the soft, the other applying a firm pressure to her aching clit; the sounds she made threatened to send him over the edge, coupled with the sensation of touching her so closely to where his cock was sliding in and out of her slick depths.

At last, she shatters around him with a high pitched moan, his name falling like a mantra from her lips, as she withers under him; her inner muscles clenching around his hardness, milking him. He can’t help himself from letting go of her hands and grasping her hips in a bruising grip, thrusting into her fast and hard once, twice, three times before he comes deep inside of her; coming in long, hot spurts that make him collapse atop of her, drained and exhausted.  

She clutches his trembling frame to her, enjoying the weight of him; stroking his damp hair as his body comes down from its high. He raises his head that was resting on her breastbone, his hair mused and a dopy smile on his lips. She can’t help but laugh as she kisses him lightly on the nose as she throws her hands around his neck to snuggle into him.

They fell asleep, sated on the couch; her back pressed against his bare chest, his arms wrapped around her securely and his nose buried in the side of her neck where her neck meets her shoulder; their legs intertwined; and the throw blanket settled over them.

A lone tear escapes from her tightly clenched eyes and slides down her cheek, leaving a glistening, wet trail,  as she concentrates on slowing her racing, shallow breaths. Exhausted, she falls into a fitful sleep as she pulls the dressing gown tighter against her body and buries her nose in its folds, breathing in his scent.

The shadows cling to him, shrouding him in darkness. He watches her for a moment and cannot help but see the dried trail of her tears; his heart clenches in his chest and he longs to presses soothing kisses to it, but it’s too dangerous, not today. Instead he settles for taking the throw from the back of the sofa and settling it around her shoulders.

He watches as she unconsciously draws it up to her chin and warps it more securely around herself. He knows that it is time for him to leave once again, but cannot help but take a moment more to watch as sleep calms the sorrow and anguish that has lined her face as of late.

A loose curl escapes and falls across her face. Before he even registers what is happening, he has reached out to tuck it gently behind her ear; his warm palm coming to rest against her cheek. She turns her face into his palm and nuzzles against it, and he cannot help but caress her soft skin.

“Sleep” he whispers as he bends down to lay a feather light kiss on her brow, before disappearing into the darkness once again.

_Mycroft_ , comes her breathy sigh as she turns over, blanket clutched tightly in her hands.


	3. Chapter 3

Two months prior in an indiscriminate field that was somewhere between Appledor and London, just a few hundred meters from the fiery plane wreck that was supposed to be the end of the Holmes boys.  

“Getoffofme!” Came a mumbled snap from under a prone form of tangled long limbs and expensive woolen coats.

“What was that brother mine” replied the elder brother with an innocent lithe to his voice, but a very not so innocent smirk quirking his lips.

“Get your fat arse off of me Fatcroft!”Sherlock growled as he tried to give his brother a shove, unsuccessful because he was tethered into a harness to his brother’s chest.

“Just for that remark, no; not until you apologize for that comment” he said as he spread his weight more evenly on top of his brother, pinning him to the ground.

Struggling under his brother, Sherlock shook from side to side. Gritting his teeth he snapped out “Fine! I apologize ... that you are so fat” he said, unable to resist taking a jab at his brother, no matter the air being squeezed out of his lungs.

Narrowing his eyes, Mycroft rolled them slightly onto their side, before letting gravity take over to have them fall to the ground again, effectively squishing Sherlock to the ground under him again.

“Ow! Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” came Sherlock’s hasty apology as he rubbed at his nose that had broken his fall onto the ground.

Once again rolling them onto their side, Mycroft bent his knee and braced his arm against the ground to balance them as his deft fingers released Sherlock from the harness that had them tethered together. Not expecting the sudden loss of balance once being released from his brother, Sherlock fell back to the ground face first with an indigent cry, as his nose once again met the hard ground.

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Sherlock stared daggers Mycroft who had fallen onto his back and was currently looking up into the clear blue sky, his lips clamped together to hold in his laughter.

“You did that on purpose” Sherlock accused.

With a put upon sigh and a roll of his eyes, Mycroft replied, “You asked me to get off of you and I did, it is not my problem that you were not paying attention”

“Why did I have to be the one attached to you,” Sherlock demanded, his brow frown and lips twisted into a scowl as he rose to his feet; his head swiveling in all directions taking in the scene around them.

“Because, not only am I the smarter one, I am also the taller one” Mycroft replied smugly as he too rose to his feet, brushing the dirt and grass from his cloths, having already surveyed the area on their decent from the plane.

“By 2.5 cm!” Sherlock exclaimed petulantly, his eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a pout.

“Taller is still taller little brother” Mycroft replied loftily; the emphasis on the word little did not go unnoticed by the illustrious detective, which only made his scowl deepen.

“Arse” Sherlock mumbled under his breath as he crossed his arms over his chest.

With a smirk on his lips, knowing he had won that verbal sparring match, Mycroft squinted up into the sky and then looked towards the west.

“Come, we must get going, they will surely send a ‘cleanup crew’ shortly” he said as he started to move off towards the setting sun.

Glancing over his shoulder when he did not hear the footsteps of his brother behind him, Mycroft turned to face the other man.

“What now?” he questioned, letting out a long sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not a child Mycroft!” snapped the younger, “You don’t get to boss me around anymore like when we were children”

“Fine, then what do you presume that we do brother mine” the elder replied in a patronizing tone, hands on his hips, that the detective chose to ignore.

Once again, the detective cast his gaze around the small clearing.

“Storm London, kill everyone in sight and get to John... everything else is just minor details” he said flippantly with flick of his hand.

With the force of his eye roll, Mycroft was slightly surprised that his eyes were not permanently lost to the back of his skull.

“Oh yes, genius plan” he replied; his words thick with sarcasm.

“Yes, quite” Sherlock said absently, Mycroft’s sarcasm lost to him as his mind had already turned to thoughts of his John.

Shaking his head at his brother’s utter lack of self preservation, Mycroft mumbled to himself, “I knew that time I dropped him as a baby by accident knocked a few screws lose.”

“No Sherlock” Mycroft said a bit louder so that his brother could hear.

At his brother’s words, Sherlock spun around, “But John! ... And no one kills me without my saying so; I fake my death when I want to, I won’t let some bureaucratic idiots make me fake my death”

“Yes, yes. You’ll get your revenge and your John, but we must take a more subtle approach. We head west to the small cottage that I was able to procure before all this unpleasant business and then we can take them all apart as you see fit.” Mycroft countered as he resumed walking.

Appeased, already with plots of slow and torturous humiliation running through his mind, Sherlock nodded his head with glee as he followed his brother.

“... let’s just hope that Anthea has not already burned the country to the ground” Mycroft said with a wince; he really did love Britain and it would be such a pain to have to find another place to live.


End file.
